“Well, well, my friend,” said King Smith, “you did your best and who can do more? Perhaps, when Sir John and the doctor have got to trust me a little more, I may be elected. If they do not think I am yet fit for the high honour of membership, I must wait. It is bad to force oneself. I can wait very well. There was a time when every inch of this island belonged to my forefathers; but I must remember that I own comparatively little myself. I am a king by direct descent; but I must not forget that I am a poor trader far more than I am a king. I owe much to the white man. It is his money that has helped me to develop the resources of my island. It is to the white man that I owe my education. Many are kind enough to come in sometimes for a little chat with me. Further intimacy is to be a matter of consideration—after all it is not unnatural.”
“You seem to take it smiling,” said Bassett.
“My friend, you were, I think, what you call a solicitor. That means a great education. I often look at you with envy when I think of the vast number of things that you must know and I do not, and of the things that would be easy for you to arrange and are so difficult for me. But if I might venture to give one little piece of advice, it is this—always take a defeat smiling and a triumph seriously. Ah, you must take that as a joke. I cannot tell you anything you do not know.”
“It’s true enough that to be a solicitor one must pass very severe tests,” said Bassett. “And every day of practice in a good firm means a lesson in knowledge of the world.” He was quite unused to flattery, and was ready to take a good deal of it.
“My friend,” said the King, “you do not drink my cognac, and it is too good to miss. Alone I would not have got it. It comes to me by favour of the padre.”
Bassett, who knew his physiological limitations, hesitated, filled his glass and sipped. He expressed an opinion that the French missionaries knew how to take care of themselves.
“Yes,” Bassett continued. “As a solicitor I met with all kinds of men. I can generally make an estimate. I have my doubts about Dr Soames Pryce. I have raced lizards against him; doctors know drugs and can use them.”
The suggestion was too preposterous, and the King’s laughter was both hearty and natural. “But I think not. It is unlikely,” he said. “The doctor is not in any want of money, and he does not risk his position here with all of you for a little piece of ten shillings. I do not know much, and so I have to guess a good deal. I should guess that it was no question of money that sent Dr Soames Pryce to Faloo.”
King Smith watched his guest with a critical eye. It was not generally advisable to speak of the past in Faloo. Lord Charles Baringstoke was quite shameless, and the Rev. Cyril Mast was occasionally maudlin, and these two had chattered about themselves, but members of the Exiles’ Club were mostly discreet and reserved as to their personal histories.
“Wasn’t it money?” said Bassett, peevishly. “No. Perhaps not. Perhaps it was something worse—something which could not be misunderstood.”